We aren’t offering a reward or anything, but we seem to have misplaced our Nigel, and we’d really, really appreciate it if you could help us to get him back.

Nigel went missing just before last weekend. He was last seen in a pub celebrating the birth of the Royal baby, chugging on a B&H with a swift pint. At the time he was last seen he was wearing a stupid grin, a coat with a velvet collar and shiny shoes. The only witness we have at present has informed us that Nigel said he was leaving in order to try to find a ‘policy.’ We aren’t sure exactly what that means, but it does seem to confirm that our Nigel was acting in an uncharacteristic fashion. He’s never mentioned anything about policy before, although he did once scribble something he described as ‘an idea’ on a soggy beer mat in biro.

Our Nigel has been described as bearing more than a passing resemblance to Parker, the Gerry Anderson puppet out of the TV series Thunderbirds. He’s quite a jovial sort of chap, who it’s quite safe to approach providing you don’t mind somebody bending your earholes with anti-EU propaganda for an hour or two. And you aren’t an immigrant or an ethnic minority.

And possibly dangerous if you happen to be a Romanian.

We’re desperate to find our Nigel, as he hasn’t been seen for two or three days, and we’re desperate to bring him home. If you’re English just take him to the nearest pub, buy him a pint, tell him David Cameron is on his way to discuss the possibility of a coalition and contact us ASAP.

If you aren’t English, it’s probably advisable to track him and maintain contact with your local police station via mobile phone until he is successfully apprehended.

If you do spot our Nigel, please let us know via our Café Spike Facebook page. We’re desperately missing him, because we haven’t had a good belly laugh in days, and as his absence continues to torture us, our country is rapidly disappearing down the toilet. Help us get our Nigel, and our country back. You know it makes sense.

PM looking like he’s really enjoying his haggis in a pic we took with a crap phone

Unreliable sources told us today that PM David Cameron has been taken ill following a day of binge eating on the campaign trail which saw him eat a fried egg, some haggis and a hot dog. (Which he ate with a knife and fork because he’s dead posh.) Our source revealed that Mr Cameron collapsed with stomach cramps at Number Ten whilst watching Thunderbirds on catch-up TV.

Whether or not Samantha flew into a blind panic and called an ambulance has yet to be established.

“She probably did though,” said our political correspondent Jeremy Stubbs. “I mean I would have. It’s a dodgy combination, fried egg, haggis and a hot dog. If I’d scoffed that little lot I’d be stuck on the toilet until at least News at Ten, and I don’t see why the PM should be any different. It isn’t like he’s Superman or something.”

Here at Café Spike we quite like haggis, but we aren’t all that convinced it’s a good idea combining it with fried egg and a hot dog. We reckon Mr Cameron was just pretending to enjoy these food items in an attempt to connect with the man in the street, and that under normal circumstances he wouldn’t touch grub like this with a bargepole.

Eating a hot dog with a knife and fork in another pic we took off the telly with a phone

“I don’t trust him either,” said Jeremy Stubbs (who is also an accomplished mind reader.) “As far as I’m concerned he’s a massive flop, and no amount of hot doggery or haggis chomping will convince me otherwise. He’s done nothing but tell lies and witter on about nothing since he moved into Downing Street. He’s just a posh git who wants to give the most vulnerable people in our society a bloody good kicking. Along with his psychopathic mate – Iain Duncan Smith. I don’t wish him any harm but I really do hope he has the screaming shits all night and that his huge forehead collapses in on itself.”

Coming next – a story which might actually have a grain of truth in it.

Here at the Café we’ve studiously ignored the ongoing row over the BBC’s suspension of self proclaimed petrol head, Jeremy Clarkson, because quite frankly we don’t give a rat’s knacker either way. We don’t even watch Top Gear because it’s about as interesting as watching a goldfish swim around in endless circles in a glass bowl. It’s just a show about high performance cars presented by a middle aged egomaniac who owns a seemingly overlarge head. In the greater scheme of things it’s completely irrelevant.

To us anyway.

Seemingly not to Clarkson’s legions of fans, and even his opponents. It’s descended into the realms of political farce of the lowest order.

The Prime Minister expressed his support for Clarkson – let that sink in for a moment – The Prime Minister. Jesus Dave…do you really not have more important things to do? It would be laughable were it not so bloody tragic.

Here’s the skinny – Clarkson got ticked off because of a lack of satisfactory catering after a hard day’s filming and proceeded allegedly to throw a punch at a producer because he couldn’t get his own way. Then Clarkson reported himself to the BBC for misconduct.

According to sources, Clarkson’s contract with the BBC is up for renewal and cynics claim that Clarkson wants away in order to sell his show to the highest bidder.

So why all the hullabaloo? Who gives a toss what he does?

Apparently media harridan Katie Hopkins does – she likened the BBC’s suspension of Clarkson to hanging the queen. Which is plainly just fucking moronic.

Anyone with half a brain knows that Clarkson’s carefully constructed TV persona has been honed to promote maximum publicity, good or bad. Yet we have a Prime Minister and the entire media up in arms over some lumpen headed spoilt brat millionaire’s rights?